temporal architect

i was grateful for the lock on my door.

that i could pull the curtain across the window and disappear into that room.

at night, being locked in felt like safety.

at least until morning.

but safety changes when you’re over-capacitated.

when you’re sleeping on a stretcher in the kitchen

next to a fridge that never stops humming

surrounded by other bodies and their constant noise.

or when the power goes out

and you’re sealed inside with no air

no open window

no way to move the heat.

or when the toilets block again

sewage leaking across the floor

and you’re forced to use a sink

or a bag

and pretend this is normal.

or when a fight breaks out right in front of you

but this time

you’re on the other side of the locked door.

jail can feel safe and unsafe in the same breath.

it depends on what you choose to hold onto.

are you the person who made the choices that landed you here

or the person who has already chosen differently?

can you stay with that new version of yourself

even when no one around you knows who you really are?

it’s a place where you can dissolve

or where you can solidify.

if you’re not like the others

you won’t fit in.

you adapt

you blend

but you still have to remember which parts of you are real.

you start with one thing.

one belief.

one line you refuse to cross.

you hold it

and build from there.

once that piece is stable

you add another.

and another.

until you begin to recognise what no longer belongs to you

and what does.

you grow from what you choose to stand on.

you are the architect of your own foundation.

you build it exactly the way you want to live inside it.

this is foundation

the temporal architect

the choice to build something solid

even when everything around you is temporary.